This the poem that was awarded the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award in 2010.
It took me 33 years to write.
Coming to Terms
I set aside my one-size-fits-all shirt,
my pants with the elastic tummy-panel,
as music to a silent world of hurt
strains from a distant country-western channel.
Still, there’s compassion. I’ve been granted leave —
a week in which to heal and convalesce,
to peel away the glow-stars, to unweave
the year I’d stitched onto your christening dress.
I rearrange my premises — perverse
assumptions! — gather unripe figs. Throw out
the bloodied bedclothes. Scour the universe
in search of you. And God. And go about
my business as my crooked smile displays
the artful look of ordinary days.
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